And Then He Wakes
by slyprentice
Summary: Don makes it a few hours before he calls his brother…Fusion with Supernatural. Vague Eppescest.


**Title**: And Then He Wakes  
**Author**: Prentice  
**Rating**: PG-15  
**Fandoms**: Numbers, Supernatural  
**Pairings**: Don/Charlie-ish  
**Spoilers**: Supernatural Season 4 – Episode 1  
**Notes**: This is a fusion between Numbers and Supernatural with the Eppes boys in place of the Winchester boys. What's the mean? It means that the yellow-eyed demon wanted Charlie, not Sam, and that it was Don not Dean who went to Hell.  
**Author's Note**: Because this is a fusion, Don and Charlie may very well not be in character but I'm trying to write them in a way that reflects this very different life their living i.e. Don never became an FBI agent but a demon hunter and Charlie is still absolutely brilliant but doesn't teach at CalSci and relies heavily on the strength of his brother as a hunter.

**Summary**: Don makes it a few hours before he calls his brother…

**-&-**

**1 .and then he wakes to the sound of angels **

Don makes it a few hours before he calls his brother, fingers trembling as he smoothes them over his thigh. It takes time to adjust; he knows it does, but the anticipation of hearing his younger brother's voice is like a hard knot coiling in his stomach, and he can't help but wonder if it's putting him over his quota for adrenaline today. The dirty phone booth is small, after all, and he's jittering like a junkie going through withdrawal as it is.

Digging in his pockets, he pulls out a handful of quarters and dumps them into the payphone, trying his best to ignore the sickening sight of blood crusting beneath his fingernails and smearing over the phone. The cold sweat that has been prickling at the back of his neck for the last few minutes makes him pant, the smell of blood, sweat, and dirt pungent in the enclosed space.

"C'mon buddy," he mumbles, using the knuckles of one hand to wipe his upper lip. The digital whirl of the phone ringing sounds distant and tiny, disconnected from him entirely. "Answer the phone already."

It takes another few rings before his brother answers, sounding winded and tired and so damn good that Don wants to pull him through the phone and into his arms. "Hey Charlie," he says when he brother says 'hello' again. The sharp sudden intake a breath is audible over the line, as if Charlie's fighting not to gasp. "It's me."

"Don?" His brother breathes, quiet and shaken. He sounds near tears. "Don, is it really you?"

"It's me, buddy," he assures, closing his eyes, savoring the sound of his name of his brother's lips. It's been too long, far too long, and Charlie makes it sound something scared and extraordinary even through the distance. "It's really me. I – I've missed you."

A slightly hysterical laugh rings in his ear, choked and broken, before it snaps off abruptly. "Me too, big brother," Charlie whispers, sounding strangled and hoarse, breath shaking with every inhalation. "I've missed you so much. God..." Another laugh, this one sounding watery, and the rustle of something – a tissue, maybe – close against the mouthpiece, as though Charlie's clutching it as close to him as he can, afraid to let go.

Don squeezes his eyes closed more tightly, wishing for a moment that he could cry. He can't, of course; couldn't even if he wanted to, which he does. His tear ducts are still too dried out, disused, and it'll probably take months for them to function again. For anything to function again right. Jesus God, what the fuck had happened to him?

"Where are you, Don?" Charlie asks suddenly, breaking the silence that had fallen between them as they listened to each other breath. "Where are you? I'll come and get you. Just tell me where you are and I'll be there as soon as I can."

"I don't know," Don murmurs, opening his eyes to stare through the grimy film on the phone booth's glass. He can't see much, just the rickety convenient store that looks like it's been there since the dawn of time and an old Buick that reminds him of something out of a Stephen King novel. He's been stumbling around for a long time. "I don't know, Charlie."

He doesn't, really. The last few hours are still just a blur of movement and sensation in his mind. The gnawing hunger that had began clawing at him only an hour ago is the only point of reference he has. It hadn't taken long to break in to the convenient store, to raid the food and water, to break into the till and steal the money. He closes his eyes again, the weird tightness of before squeezing in his chest, and making his ears ring. What the fuck had happened in there anyway?

The dusting of glass is still on his clothes, clinging to the fabric of his jacket and the denim of his jeans. The small cuts on his hands from where he protected himself are insignificant but still aching fiercely. Shaking his head, he blinks, shuddering slightly at the high pitched screech that still echoes eerily in his mind. He can't think about it right now. He'll deal with it later.

"I – uh, I'm at some," he starts again, squinting through the dirt. "Some crossroads somewhere."

"C-c-crossroads?" Charlie stutters, soft voice rising in alarm. "Crossroads? What crossroads? Don –"

"Easy, buddy," Don cuts off soothingly, eyes searching frantically for something more to give his brother. "There's convenient store and a Buick, both old, but – but there's not much else," he finishes, almost apologetically. He knows how Charlie feels about crossroads, knows that his brother will think the worst although the worst has already happened. "I'll try to hotwire the Buick when I get off the phone with you. If I can't get it, I'll call you back."

"Don," his brother starts again, fear, anxiety, and sheer paranoia making his voice sound like the little boy Don remembers taking care of. "Don't you dare hang up! Don't! I'll – I'll –"

"You'll what?" Don asks, throat tightening. He wishes he could touch his brother, run his fingers through curly hair, sooth the hurt and trepidation for them both. It's been too long since they've been together, something he knows even though he can't say how long it's been exactly. "Neither of us knows where I am, Charlie. I've got to get out of here, buddy."

Before whatever it is come back, he wants to say but doesn't. He loves his brother, loves him so much that sometimes it hurts to even think about, but Charlie can't deal with things the way Don can. Isn't equipped to deal with it, never has been. Ever since their mother was killed by that fucking yellow-eyed demon and Alan Eppes had relied on Don's strength as much as he had sheltered Charlie, his younger brother hadn't been the one to turn to in a crisis. Not that he didn't help or couldn't protect their family just as easily as Don could, but in the end, when push came to shove, Charlie wanted his big brother to chase away the demons in the closet and monsters under the bed, not him.

"But Don," Charlie whispers, tears and pain dripping from his name. "Please, just please. _Please_."

"Charles Eppes," Don murmurs, relishing the roll of his tongue around his little brother's name. "What did I promise you when mom died?"

"Don –"

"Answer me, Charlie," Don presses, fingers tightening around the phone handle. "What did I promise you?"

"Don, please," his brother whispers, brokenly.

"Charlie."

" – that you would never leave me."

The words make his eyes burn, chest tightening painfully. "That's right, baby brother. I'll never leave you. I – I came back for you. I'll always come back for you." It's a lie but one that Charlie needs to hear and that Don needs to say. He doesn't know why he came back or how but for now he'll believe it's for Charlie. Believe it with all his might. "I have to get home to you, buddy, but the only way to do that is if I hang up and find a car. Don't worry, okay? I promise you I'm coming home and –"

"You never break a promise," Charlie finishes, sounding pained but steady. Trusting his big brother to make things right. Make things better.

"That's right," Don agrees, feeling breathless and relieved. "I never break my promises and I'll be home soon."

The sound of the payphone clinging as he hangs it up it loud and jarring in the quiet of the phone booth but Don ignores it as he steps out into the sun. He'll fix up the Buick – hotwire if he needs to – then he'll go home to Charlie. Where he's supposed to be.


End file.
